Friday, November 17, 2017

h

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





they live on the hill
where little birds sing
they go everywhere
and have everything

they sit by the pool
butlers bring drinks
they don’t care
what anyone thinks

with a flick of the ash
of their big cigars
they shake the earth
and put out the stars

they live high on the hog
high on the hill
they leave no pies
on their window sill

their names are henry
and henrietta
you think you know
but they know better

you cry for your pa
you can weep for your ma
but the hillside answers
ha ha ha


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